


Sum

by softlyue



Series: Gifts and Requests [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied Romance, Minor Injuries, Non-Specific Inquisitor, Other, Realizing Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 02:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14150100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyue/pseuds/softlyue
Summary: A prompt for @Athdhea on Tumblr, "My best is never good enough."Cassandra reflects on her misery in the wake of an injury and a close call. Cole is here to help.





	Sum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athdhea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athdhea/gifts).



_“My best is never good enough.”_

When she looks over to her left, he’s gone, but she feels the whisper of magic and the slight wheeze to his breaths when he appears sitting to the ledge on her right. Her shield arm is wrapped and bound in a sling, again, and while she normally would leave, put as much space between herself and the…spirit…as possible, this time, she does not. Cassandra has run enough in these last days. She will not run from this. She leans on her unbroken arm, inclines her head toward Cole, and waits. Pointedly, she thinks, he avoids looking back, and in his hand he pulls apart the petals on a flower.

“It is not,” she agrees, glances away as the last petal is plucked, “The blood on my blade pales to the blood I have stepped through to follow the Maker’s path.” Cole swings his feet, heels of his boots clicking soft against the stone, but he turns the stem in his hand as if looking for something more.

He is quiet, which is more unnerving than when he speaks, laying bare the secrets and the silences they keep to survive another day. Cassandra sighs, leans forward more to rest the injured elbow against the broken stone. Below them, the garden is an isolated scene of serenity. A parade of children follow two of Leliana’s scouts around the fruit trees. Cassandra catches only pieces of the lesson being taught, but the fairer smiles warmly as the darker-haired scout tells a story. Occasionally, she gestures to the other to add to her piece. The children - mostly orphans out of Haven - are enraptured, fidgeting with questions unanswered. The scout extends her arms to emphasize the wonder of her tale, barely holding back a grin.

A bit of a smirk tugs at Cassandra’s lips, like a memory, a stiff old muscle not oft used, but she feels that little joy drain as Cole lets his handful of petals drop into the breeze.

_“They laud me for my victories, but I haven’t won as much as I’ve lost.”_

Cassandra nods slowly. “Yes.” It is uncomfortable. She wants to turn, sneer, leave, head back down the stairs where she can drive iron through a wooden training doll.

She keeps her vigil.

_“I have come back in pieces, like the rain falling, pieces of the windows of my shattered home. I can’t keep us from walking on the glass.”_

Poetic. He speaks nearly as clearly as she wishes she could write, and Cassandra is not a woman who does not appreciate poetry, even when inappropriate. “I will not let them down again,” she murmurs, watches one girl tumble over another boy as the scout’s story grows more intense.

Cole twists toward her so quickly, so sharply, that Cassandra startles and stumbles back over her feet. Her right hand reaches to her hip, where her sword does not hang, because she is hurt. Broken.  _Again_.

His grey eyes haunt her, thrum and chill right through her and exchange her practical bravery with fear.

“You? It wasn’t  _you_ ,” he says, genuinely confused. Cole extends an open palm to her, stained green and yellow with nectar from the torn flower. She stares, tries to still her heart, eyes narrow and distrusting. Cole tips back his hat, and his mouth stretches a little to the side in an awkward attempt at an encouraging smile.

She already decided she wasn’t running.

Cassandra offers him her right.

Cole tugs her a little closer. His pull is stronger than she expects and her knees knock against the wall as she skids in near him. Carefully, concentrating, Cole folds down all but her index finger and points her hand to the sky. At first, she thinks he’s pointing to the sun but she follows the line of her finger and her blunt, broken nail points to a shadow on the edge of the tower.

The air feels thicker. Cole’s hands are icy, his cold grip strong enough to bruise.

“The person, not the Inquisitor, says it’s not enough,” Cole insists, “What is left to love if the best is not enough?  _The glass pierces her feet, it’s my fault she fell._ ” The spirit leans closer as the shadow bends over the balcony. A universal posture of despair. Cassandra’s spine would like to collapse much the same, to give in, but her armour is rigid, it needs to be. She does not bend when she feels she might break. It is the least she can offer.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he confesses, a barely-there breath of a whisper. He wheezes on the inhale. “But the person, not the Inquisitor, needs to know.  _You_  should say so.” A pause, and the spirit’s next smile is more encouraging.  _“…that’s the way to run.”_

And without more to say, Cole is gone, and Cassandra feels strange with her hand outstretched toward the Inquisitor’s tower. The figure heaves a sigh before disappearing inside, and the sun drops lower into the mountains on the horizon. 

She watches, and swallows back a rueful laugh that bubbles raw in her throat, lest it startle the children so inspired below. Cassandra lowers her arm to her side, shuts her eyes, lets the last of the light warm her face until it disappears. Firelight glows from the Inquisitor’s room.

Her feet carry her one step at a time, broken step by broken step.

Is it too forward? Inside, her raised knuckles hover over the door and this time she can’t help but chuckle tiredly at her hesitation.

She’s not at her best right now, but it will have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing prompts have been helping me with depression/writer's block on my longer fics. Come catch me at [@lyriumyue](http://lyriumyue.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you've got a prompt!


End file.
